


Centuries (Remember Me)

by gingerink



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Break Up, Fluff and Angst, Getting Back Together, M/M, Pining, Self-Esteem Issues, broken bone tw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-08
Updated: 2015-02-08
Packaged: 2018-03-11 04:57:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3314870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gingerink/pseuds/gingerink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>1. Get new interests – go kickboxing, join a new society, learn a new language<br/>2. Spend time with friends<br/>3. Give things back to R<br/>4. Keep busy (but do not overdo work) (This was underlined twice.)<br/>5. Go on dates with other people</p><p>P.S. Stay friends with R</p><p>Enjolras looked up from the list. “There are so many things wrong with this.” </p><p> </p><p>Enjolras and Grantaire split up. Enjolras follows his best friend, Courfeyrac's, advice to get over the artist. It goes as well as expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Centuries (Remember Me)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dezz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dezz/gifts).



> My prompt was: Any AU setting, getting back together fic. Please don't make one of them super manipulative or super mean. I also used elements from my other prompts in regards to the relationship between the triumvirate.
> 
> This became a monster. I hope you enjoy.

Enjolras felt his head fall back against his chair. He swiped a hand through his curls, watching the cursor flash up and down on his computer screen. The white page made his head ache, Enjolras groaned once more as the unwelcome thoughts began to flood his mind. He hadn’t thought about him for about an hour now. He’d even managed to finish off his political science paper. It wasn’t due for another three weeks. Anything to take his mind off him, _anything_.  
  
“We need to talk.” His face appeared before Enjolras.  
  
Enjolras could trace every single crinkle in the corner of his eyes, the scar that was shaped like a letter V standing out across his cheek but only if you looked at his face in the right angle of light, the tiny upturn in his lip from the bad fall he’d had as a child. Enjolras missed tracing his fingers over his face, remembering each dip, every imperfection, his fingers always snagged on his dark dusting of stubble. Enjolras remembered the scene as though it were yesterday. He was sitting in Combeferre’s apartment, working through the various sources for their next protest.  
  
The list, in Feuilly’s scrawl, sat by Enjolras’ laptop as the blonde squinted and typed furiously. He remembered him, Grantaire, more precisely the scent of Grantaire, the smell of tobacco and patchouli invaded his nostrils, his lover’s thick curls tickled Enjolras’ bare cheek. The hint of a smile disappeared, replaced by a look of irritation that passed across the perfect marble features.  
  
“What do we need to talk about?” Enjolras remembered saying those words. He didn’t remember the look of utter anguish on Grantaire’s face. He turned back to his computer. Grantaire let out a sigh. Enjolras could still hear the disappointment, breathing against his neck, even now.  
  
“What’s the matter, Grantaire? I told you that I had to finish this-“.  
  
“I’m not upset about you working right now, E.” Grantaire cut in, his voice fairly level. “Then what are you upset about? You wanted to talk, what about?”  
  
“I wanted to talk…” Grantaire’s eyes had begun to flash dangerously. “I wanted to talk about how sick I was of sharing of my boyfriend with _the cause_.”  
  
“You knew what you were getting yourself in for.” Enjolras snapped back, uncertain of where this sudden animosity had come from.  
  
“I did, I am not going to pretend that I didn’t…I just thought that you would have remembered it was our anniversary tonight.”  
  
Enjolras remembered been able to feel the sudden thud of his heart. “A-Anniversary?” He hated the way he became unsure of himself.  
  
“Yes, Enjolras, our anniversary. You know, the milestone of us reaching a year together. I booked us a table at the Tricolore weeks ago. You promised that you had no work on that day-“ Grantaire said, his face began to melt into resignation.  
  
“I’m sorry, Grantaire, but sometimes these things come up.”  
  
“These things keep coming up though. We haven’t seen each other for a week, E!” Grantaire’s cheeks flushed red with anger.  
  
“We saw each other yesterday.” Enjolras fired back, unable to hold back the words.  
  
“I meant…alone, E. We haven’t had sex in over two weeks. Yesterday, we were both at the meeting. I meant the last time we spent time as a couple.”  
  
“I’m sorry that we haven’t spent much time together but you know I have exams coming up and I had three protests to organise-“  
  
“I am not asking for the world, Enjolras.” Grantaire said, quietly. His dark eyes were glassy.  
  
“I can’t…I can’t give you everything you want.” Enjolras replied. He felt lost for words and he hated that feeling. He wasn’t in his character at all.  
  
“What can you give me, Enjolras?” Grantaire’s voice was almost a whisper.    
  
Enjolras finally lifted his head to stare at his lover. Grantaire looked worn, however, his eyes held fear and desperation. Enjolras could say nothing for a few minutes. “I don’t…I don’t know, Grantaire.” Enjolras answered honestly. His chest ached as he watched the glimmer of hope in his lover’s dark eyes fade.  


* * *

  
Enjolras pulled himself out of his daydreams. He shook his head and picked up the paper with Feuilly’s untidy scribbles on it, smoothing it out. He wondered if people could be smoothed out in the same way, if one could remove their imperfections by applying pressure? He felt the beginning of a headache begin to creep up upon him. It was over. He and Grantaire were over. His mind kept replaying the scene, whether it be in his lectures, his meetings and even in his bed. Enjolras kept seeing the look of heartbreak of Grantaire constantly. Heartbreak didn’t suit Grantaire. Enjolras fell back into his daydreams.  
  
“I think we should talk about us.” Grantaire’s face seemed lost of hope. His eyes looked tired, his stubble more ragged all within the space of fifteen minutes.  
  
“What do you mean?” Enjolras said, his eyes darkened in anger, his tone defensive.  
  
“I mean…us, Enjolras. You and I. I don’t think it’s working.”  
  
Enjolras for once, did not have anything to say. He remained silent, watching his lover. Grantaire’s eyes became glassy, Enjolras noticed his hand shaking slightly at his side.  
“I…I just…I don’t know if this thing between us is working anymore. I love you but I don’t know if this is what I expected.”  
  
“What did you expect?” Enjolras regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth.  
  
Grantaire flinched. “I don’t know Enjolras. I just wanted to tell you that I am not happy in this, with us. I’m trying to be strong. I don’t think we shouldn’t be together anymore.” Grantaire said, holding his blonde lover’s gaze.  
  
He knew he would cave if he looked away. Enjolras glared back. He seemed to look more beautiful in anger, almost like an avenging angel. Grantaire had passing thoughts about painting the scene before him, so much red, so much anger and hurt. It would be a masterpiece.  
  
“...Okay, then. We shouldn’t be together anymore.” Enjolras said, he did not know what else to say.  
  
“We’re splitting up.”  
  
Grantaire nodded, a tear traced a path down his cheek. “Yes, Enjolras. I think it is best for both of us.”  
  
A moment of silence passed between the two lovers before Enjolras broke the crushing feeling that had descended on the room. (heartbreak, silence, the two things are synonymous.)  
  
“Can we still be friends?” Enjolras said, pushing a hand through his blonde curls. He was holding back his tears, his walls fighting against the thump of his heart and the ache in his chest.  
  
“Of course, we can still be friends.” Grantaire said, gently. He swiped over his face with the sleeve of his jumper.  
  
Enjolras could say no more. The shattering of hearts in the room said all that was to be said. Grantaire left a few minutes later. Enjolras remembered the slight smell of patchouli touch his nostrils, the warmth of Grantaire’s worn hand, rough from paint grip his shoulder affectionately before he heard the door close gently. The tears started shortly after that, followed by the screams.  
  
Enjolras remembered.

* * *

  
  
Just friends. We are just friends. Enjolras thought, glancing once more at the empty document in front of him. He glanced at the clock, he had been thinking about Grantaire for over half an hour. He glanced at the piece of paper in his hand, he had crinkled it into a ball in his deep daydream. Sighing, he unravelled it and placed it on his desk. He closed his eyes for a moment, wincing at the headache that flooded his temples. Enjolras liked the silence of the room, it was almost calm. The dark comforted him in a way. He was so immersed in the quiet that he did not notice the door open.  
  
“Enjolras? Are you still trying to work on that protest information?” Courfeyrac danced through the door, a huge grin plastered to his face. Enjolras opened one eye to glance at his best friend.  
  
“No, I had a look but I haven’t gone any further than the first link.”  
  
Courfeyrac’s blue eyes roved over Enjolras’ laptop, catching sight of the blank white page. “Thinking about _things_ again?”  
  
Enjolras bit his lip. Courfeyrac knew him too well, he couldn’t pretend with his best friend. He nodded, pushing a hand through his hair. “I had a bit of a think about things…are you wearing a flower crown?”  
  
“Jehan made it for me.” Courfeyrac’s grin remained untarnished as he adjusted the crown of daisies that sat amongst his dark curls. "Don’t change the subject, Enjolras. You were thinking about him weren’t you?”  
  
“I-I’m not allowed to think about him? If I recall, he was the one who wanted to break up with me.” Enjolras said, he knew he sounded whiny but he couldn’t help it.  
  
“You are allowed to think about him, E. But it’s been a month and you haven’t talked to one another. I know you’re avoiding him.”  
  
“He said he wanted some space.” Enjolras said, defensively.  
  
“There is a difference between space and ignorance.” Courfeyrac said, his light eyes focused on his blonde best friend. “How are you going to get over him if you’re still in denial about what happened?”  
  
“I am not in denial.”  
  
“Enjolras, I can see three Ben and Jerry’s cartons in your bin. You were watching Gossip Girl earlier.”  
  
“I…it’s addictive. I just don’t understand why Chuck and Blair are not together.”  
  
Courfeyrac sighed heavily. “You are discussing the merits of why a fictional couple are together-“  
  
“Which fictional couple?” Another voice joined in. Combeferre, Enjolras’ oldest friend moved into view behind Courfeyrac. He glanced between the two friends, concern tugging at his features.  
  
“Chuck and Blair from Gossip Girl.” Courfeyrac said, a smile on the corner of his lips.

He stepped back a pace or two, his fingers tangled with Combeferre’s for a second. Enjolras felt a thread of hurt tug on his heart. He was happy for his two best friends, they had come together in the strangest of circumstances but they were perfect for one another. They were currently trying to tone down their affections for one another for the sake of Enjolras.  
  
“Why are you talking about Gossip Girl?” Combeferre asked, his finger reluctantly moving away from Courfeyrac’s.  
  
“Because Enjolras is watching it. _Enjolras_. The television purist who only watches House of Cards and history documentaries.” Courfeyrac replied.  
  
“Is it a big deal I watched Gossip Girl? You watch it all the time, Courf.” Enjolras said, hotly.  
  
“But this is you, Enjolras. Watching teen dramas really isn’t your thing…Also, you are wearing Grantaire’s paint jumper.”  
  
Enjolras felt the remark he was going to direct at his best friend die in his mouth. He glanced down, realising that he was indeed wearing the oversized, emerald green jumper that belonged to his ex-boyfriend. His fingers traced over the splashes of paint – neon green, rose, vermilion, cobalt. He tried not to think about Grantaire.  
  
“Enjolras…” Combeferre, as always sensed that his best friends thoughts were elsewhere and broke up the awkward silence that began to resonate around the room. “If you want to watch Gossip Girl, that is entirely your decision and it is nothing to do with Courfeyrac or myself.”  
  
“We just want you to be okay. We want to be okay with you and Grantaire-“ He did not miss the slight flinch from Enjolras when he mentioned his ex-boyfriend’s name.  
“We didn’t ask for a divorce and we know you didn’t either. We just want you to be okay in yourself.”  
  
“What Courf means, is that we don’t want to rush you but we want you to be happy again. We understand that it will take time and we will always be here for you if you need us. But you will be happy again, Enjolras. You just need time to heal your wounds.” Combeferre said, his tone gentle and wise.  
  
He moved closer to his best friend, clasping his shoulder gently. “You always have Courfeyrac and I.” Courfeyrac also moved forward to offer comfort. (reassurance, familiarity.) Enjolras felt the first hint of a smile as his two best friends enveloped him in a hug. He needed time but he wasn’t sure how much he needed. He knew one certainty, however, that Combeferre and Courfeyrac would be with him every step of the way.

* * *

  
  
If Enjolras believed for one second that Courfeyrac wasn’t going to get involved, that belief was shattered the very next day. Enjolras sighed heavily as his best friend bounded into the shop, a look akin to that of a puppy wanting to obey his new master, plastered across his face. He trusted Combeferre too much, he felt betrayed by his bespectacled best friend. Courfeyrac bounced up and down on his heels, shaking the light dusting of the snow from his shoulders and his beanie. Enjolras saved the paper he was working on (he was in a strangely productive mood this morning) and turned to his best friend.  
  
“You’re planning something.” He said, trying to keep his tone uninterested.  
  
Courfeyrac dropped into the seat next to Enjolras, the Cheshire cat grin still unwilling to leave his face. He peeled his scarf from around his neck. Enjolras immediately noticed the love bite on Courfeyrac’s collarbone, just hidden by his t-shirt. Enjolras knew exactly who had given him that mark. His best friend, thankfully, noticed where the blonde’s gaze fell and adjusted his jacket to hide the mark, an action that Enjolras suddenly found himself grateful for. The slight pang of hurt that echoed through the blonde’s chest soon faded as Courfeyrac moved his chair closer to him, stealing a sip of his cappuccino.  
  
“Hey, get your own coffee.”  
  
Courfeyrac made a face. “I can’t believe you drink that crap. Haven’t you got any tea?” He paused, taking in the frustration spreading across Enjolras’ face.  
  
“What have you come here to tell me? I assume you have a new plan that you want to run by me or-“  
  
“I want to show you something…here.” Courfeyrac cut in, waving the sheet of paper in his hand around.  
  
“What is it?” Enjolras asked. However, his next words died in his mouth. He glanced over the sheet that had been thrust into his hand by his best friend.  
  
_Ways for E to get over R_  
  
The title, clearly in Courfeyrac’s untidy scrawl, proclaimed in pink pen. Enjolras looked up at his best friend, fire blazing in his eyes. Hurt and anger leaked into every pore of his body. Courfeyrac had promised that he would not interfere with this matter. It was hard enough to hear their friends sidestep around Enjolras whenever they discussed Grantaire. He didn’t need to get over Grantaire. He needed to keep working and keep things cordial between the two of them. Courfeyrac noticed the blonde’s silence and set jaw almost immediately. Enjolras was angry. Combeferre had warned him of this. However, he was insistent that this was the right thing for both Grantaire and Enjolras. Enjolras was probably still in denial about the entire thing. Courfeyrac stayed silent whilst his friend read through the note. He leaned back on his chair and signalled for a drink from Musichetta.  
  
_1\. Get new interests – go kickboxing, join a new society, learn a new language_  
_2\. Spend time with friends_  
_3\. Give things back to R_  
_4\. Keep busy (but do not overdo work)_ (This was underlined twice.)  
_5\. Go on dates with other people_  
  
_P.S. Stay friends with R_  
  
Enjolras looked up from the list.  
  
“There are so many things wrong with this.”  
  
“Like what?” Courfeyrac said, accepting his cup of tea from Musichetta with a wink and a big grin.  
  
“Well, you make it sound…so structured…like if I follow this plan, I will magically get over him. You know that is not how it works, Courf.”  
  
Courf took a sip of his hot tea, letting out a sigh of satisfaction. “Listen, E, I understand that you are upset and your mind is all over the place right now. It’s not a plan, it’s more like guidelines. I just want you to blossom again. Since you and R broke up…” He noticed the slight flinch, “you have changed. You’re not the man we know you can be. You need to accept-“  
  
“I need to accept that the man I love doesn’t love me back by…going on dates with other people? Courfeyrac, I am not you. You know I can’t date. I can’t when I am still in love with-“ The blonde stiffened.  
  
Courfeyrac raised an eyebrow at his friend’s strange behaviour. He glanced around, his mouth falling open. Grantaire was standing in the doorway of the coffee shop.  
  
He looked as handsome as always. Enjolras bit his lip, forcing himself to look anywhere but his ex-boyfriend. He was unable to keep his eyes from sweeping across Grantaire, the inky black curls were tucked underneath the ever present purple beanie, the remains of stubble wound their way up Grantaire’s pale jaw. However, the more Enjolras fixed his stare upon Grantaire, he noticed the slight creases in the corner of the artist’s mouth and the faint bags underneath his ex-lover’s dark green eyes. Courfeyrac looked the exchange with interest, summoning the artist over with a swoop of his hand.  
  
“R, I didn’t expect to see you here!” He said, practically bouncing in his chair.  
  
“I wasn’t planning on staying.” Grantaire muttered, his eyes still fixed on the beautiful blonde next to Courfeyrac. The artist felt his heart thunder against his ribs as his eyes soaked up the sight of Enjolras. He looked good, it wasn’t fair.  
  
“Come and sit down and have a tea, we haven’t spoken in so long.” Courfeyrac wheedled, the huge grin was back, streaking across his face.

Grantaire looked like he wanted to turn around and leave the coffee shop, anything to get away from Enjolras. However, to the blonde’s surprise, he shrugged heavily and moved to the table. Grantaire fell into the chair next to Courfeyrac, he tried not to let his gaze fall upon the beautiful blonde sitting next to him. He could feel Enjolras’ eyes on him but he tried to act casual. Courfeyrac glanced between the two of them, almost as though he was waiting for a reaction. He quickly excused himself to go and get a pot of tea for the three of them despite Enjolras’ insistence that he could get it instead.  
  
“You need to talk.” Courfeyrac hissed gently into his best friend’s ear, before flashing his trademark grin at Grantaire and skipping off to the counter to admire his handiwork.  
  
“So are you okay?” Grantaire asked, blush flooding his cheeks.  
  
“I…I’m fine.” Enjolras replied, his voice quiet. He realised the list was still in his hand and crumpled it into a ball, pushing it into the pocket of his red coat. Grantaire saw a glimpse of the letters E and R and he suddenly became aware of his heart beating against his ribcage.  
  
“So how are you? Have you been up to much?” Enjolras asked the artist, leaning back in his chair as to not look too overeager.  
  
“I’m okay, I’ve had a few important pieces to finish and several shifts at the bookstore. Other than that, I’ve been in a relationship with Netflix for the past few days.” He chuckled softly at his own joke. Enjolras bit his lip, feeling his chest tighten at the slight scoff that passed Grantaire’s lips.  
  
“How about you, E? Still busy organising that protest?”  
  
“Not at the moment, I decided to have a few days off…I just needed a break from everything that happened.” Enjolras didn’t really have an answer. He didn’t want to admit to his ex-boyfriend that he was watching teen dramas and was contemplating asking Jehan for his book of Keats’ poems. He didn’t notice the slight tinge of guilt pass quickly over the artist’s face.  
  
“I’m sorry.” Grantaire said quietly. Enjolras wondered if the words had even left the dark haired man’s mouth.  
  
“For what?” Enjolras asked, his voice just as quiet.  
  
“For everything…I know this is difficult for you…having to turn down invitations with everyone when you know I am going to be there…” Grantaire held up a hand to stop Enjolras’ inevitable protest. “Don’t say anything…you don’t have to pretend to save my feelings. I know it’s difficult and I am so sorry for fucking this up. I just hope we can be friends.” He moved his hand to rest on Enjolras’.  
  
The contact lasted for only a few seconds. Enjolras kept his breathing steady, trying not to eye Grantaire’s hand, tanned skin contrasting with pale. His fingers rubbed across the tender skin. Enjolras let out a shallow breath. However, as though he realised his mistake, Grantaire removed his hand quickly, leaving Enjolras hollow. Enjolras did not answer for a moment.  
  
“Yes, friends.” He finally said, ignoring the fresh stab of pain in his chest. (hurt, hurt, hurt.)  
  
They sat in silence for a moment, looking at one another, it was almost as if the two ex-lovers were examining each another for changes. Enjolras remembered the last time he and Grantaire had been in the coffee shop, they were holding hands. Enjolras wondered if the callouses were still on his beloved’s hands, whether the small cut on his index finger had healed yet.  
  
“Anyway, I better go. I’ll see you around. Tell Courf that I’m sorry and I’ll speak to him later.” Grantaire said, tiring of the silence.  
  
He pulled himself out of his chair and left quickly without giving Enjolras his usual parting hug. Enjolras bit his lip, hating how their behaviour towards one another had changed. He was the confident leader of Les Amis, but with Grantaire, things were different…or rather, they had been different. He thought back to the first time Grantaire had thrown his strong arms around him, he remembered the scent of patchouli and smoke enter his nostrils, the scratchiness of Grantaire’s cheap sweater against his palms, the slight rub of Grantaire’s stubble against his earlobe, but most of all, he remembered how at ease he felt with the artist’s body pressed against him. Enjolras was usually not a person who sought out affectionate gestures but there was something about Grantaire that made him feel comfortable and at ease. He was shook out of his thoughts by Courfeyrac returning with tea. He glanced at the door and then at his best friend.  
  
“I’m sorry for leaving you…I thought-“  
  
Enjolras shrugged. “At least he doesn’t hate me.” He thought about Grantaire grasping his hand, about Grantaire’s look of tenderness as his fingers had danced over Enjolras’ veins.

* * *

  
  
_Do something new  
  
_ Enjolras wasn’t sure how he had come to be standing in a gym, dressed in a pair of sweatpants he had borrowed from Courfeyrac and an old khaki vest top he had found in the bottom of his drawer. He did not notice the smear of the yellow paint until he had put it on. It was too late for him to back out now. He cursed Courfeyrac internally. His best friend had insisted that his new activity should be sports based.  
  
“I know you, Enjolras, you have a little notebook somewhere in your bag and you’ve written things like volunteer for the library and attend new classes. You need to do something that you have never done before.” Courfeyrac was wearing the biggest shit eating grin on his face, as he waved the neon pink flyer in Enjolras’ face.  
  
Enjolras wasn’t sure if he was more frustrated by the fact that Courfeyrac knew exactly what he had written in his notebook or if he just knew that Enjolras would hate the activity he picked out for him. Enjolras glanced down at the flyer, printed in gaudy colours. _Kickboxing, all ages welcome, Tuesday and Thursday evenings at 7pm._  
  
“I was recommended it by a close friend.” Courfeyrac winked. “It would do you the world of good to do some exercise. You might actually get some abs out of this-“  
  
“Courf, stop. I’ll go to the kickboxing class. If you want some time alone with Combeferre, all you had to do to ask.” Enjolras said, smiling at the faint blush staining his best friend’s face.  
  
Enjolras moved into the studio where the class was taking place, shaking the tension out of his shoulders. He once more caught sight of the yellow smudge across his side, trying to push the thoughts that immediately rose to the forefront of his mind away.  
  
“So if you’d like to gather around me and we can begin the class.” A roughened voice spoke up.  
  
Enjolras froze. He knew that voice, he knew every single nuance of it, every vowel that spilt from the pink parted lips when Enjolras was pressed against his sheets.  
He looked up, his blue eyes meeting dark green ones. Grantaire was standing in front of him, wearing the shortest pair of shorts Enjolras had ever seen and a tight white t-shirt that left nothing to the imagination. Enjolras hated his life. Grantaire did not say anything, a mere quirk turned up the corner of his lips as he resumed talking. Enjolras barely heard a single word the dark haired man said. He was focusing on the slight curve of muscle underneath Grantaire’s t-shirt. He suddenly felt very self-conscious and crossed his arms, to try and cover up his lack of clothing.  
  
“That’s all everyone, now partner up.” Grantaire said.  
  
Enjolras drew a blank. He knew this had been a bad idea, he would have to make small talk with someone all whilst trying to ignore the man who was the reason for him coming to the class. However, his hopes were dashed as a hand shook him from his thoughts. He knew that hand, he took a deep breath, not ready to see Grantaire this close up with so few clothes between them.  
  
“I guess you are my partner this week, Enjolras. Since you’re new to the group.” Grantaire said, his expression was unreadable. He held out the roll of hand tape.  
  
Enjolras did not say anything for a moment. He was too busy cursing Courfeyrac in his head. He hoped that Combeferre was a good bodyguard.  
  
“Are you okay, E? It’s okay if you want to sit this session out-“ Grantaire said, he moved to withdraw the tape but Enjolras caught his wrist.  
  
“I’m sorry, I was just thinking about which murder method I was going to use to kill Courfeyrac.”  
  
“Oh, he was the one who persuaded you to do this?” Grantaire sounded surprised.  
  
“He didn’t give me much choice. He kept talking about how developing abs would be a sure fire way to get…get dates.” Enjolras said, tailing off, his cheeks pink.

  
“Oh, I can make no promises about you developing abs. I can tell you a few ways to maim Courfeyrac though.” Grantaire said in response, the tips of his ears were bright red but he retained his composure.  
  
“I might need those tips.” Enjolras replied, unable to keep the tug of the smile at his lips. “I-“ his words died on his lips as Grantaire grabbed his hand. The two of them did not say anything for a moment.  
  
Grantaire’s callouses pressed against the smooth curves of Enjolras’ palm. “Now spread your fingers out for me and give them a few wiggles.” Grantaire said softly, his voice warm and rich. Enjolras did as he was asked. Grantaire proceeded to tape up his hand below his knuckles, his warm hands sending chills through Enjolras.  
  
“You never tape your fingers together with the tape, you do that with the wrap. I’m going to tape up your wrist next to protect you from a sprain.” Grantaire laid the tape flat across Enjolras’ wrist and quickly wound it around, his fingers gently handling the pale skin of his ex-lover.  
  
He pulled a red wrap of his pocket and then artfully wound it around Enjolras’ hand and fingers. He made it look easy. He did the other hand in less than two minutes, winding the material gently around Enjolras’ skin, his eyes focused purely on the task at hand. This gave Enjolras the perfect opportunity to survey his ex-lover. However, Grantaire did not look any different from a few weeks ago. There were slightly darker smudges under his eyes and his stubble was a little messier than usual.  
  
“Your hand should be fully protected from the impact of any punches now.” Grantaire said, surveying his handiwork.  
  
Enjolras nodded, biting his lip. Grantaire dropped his hands and moved away from Enjolras, clapping his hands to draw the attention of the room. “Right everyone, nice to see you all. We are going to work on basic jabs today again with our main focus on footwork. So I want you to decide in your pairs who is going to be practising the jabs first. After we’ve had a good half an hour practising, I am going to bring us all together for a demonstration.”  
  
He dismissed everyone with a wave of his hand, everyone except Enjolras. “I guess since you’re the newest member and you weren’t here last week when I taught the jab, you’ll have to partner me, E.”  
  
Enjolras was going to kill Courfeyrac. He was going to make sure that his best friend’s body was never found. It was all his fault that he was spending his evening with the one man he was trying to get over, sweat pouring down his white t-shirt, listening to his ex-lover’s pants as he tried to explain how to adopt a fighting stance. Enjolras tried not to watch Grantaire’s muscles shift underneath the thin white material or the sweat, slick against his neck. He thought that he was coping with holding his feelings back until Grantaire moved to stand behind him, to angle his body into position. Enjolras fought the urge to bite back a whimper as Grantaire guided his sweaty palms across his dry skin, moving his arms into position. He hooked one of Enjolras’ feet with his own, shifting it ever so slightly.  
  
“This is a left stance, your left leg stays forward and you place the weight on your right. The idea is to protect your stronger side from your opponent. Your feet should be no more than a shoulder width apart. Your elbows-“ He guided them up into the desired position. “should be held forward of your body, tucked in towards your ribs. Your hands should be about eye level to protect your chin and head from blows…to jab, you throw your lead fist ahead. Your arm should fully extend.”  
  
Enjolras nodded, he wasn’t sure if the information was sinking in. He bit his lip, feeling uncomfortable. What if he made a fool out of himself in front of Grantaire?  
  
Grantaire moved away to pick up the practise pad. He stood in front of Enjolras, his eyes shining. Enjolras primed himself, ready to strike. The practise pad didn’t look very big, what if he missed the bag and hit Grantaire? He shifted forward ever so slightly, holding his stance as Grantaire had instructed him to.  
  
“Good, Enjolras. You’ve dropped your shoulder slightly, move it up ever so…that’s it. Remember, just breathe and take it easy for the first time.”  
  
However, Enjolras was not a man who took it easy. He thought only of Grantaire and impressing the dark haired artist. He pulled back his fist and then pressed it forward into the bag. He let out a hiss as pain shot through his wrist.   
  
Grantaire looked shocked.

* * *

  
“You broke your wrist?” Courfeyrac said, he looked incredulous.  
  
“I broke my wrist in front of Grantaire. I suppose that was not part of your ingenious plan.” Enjolras snapped, the pain from his wrist was making him feel like crap.

The blonde was laid up on the couch in the apartment he shared with Combeferre and Courfeyrac. His eyelids were dropping slowly due to the painkillers currently making their way through his system. He cursed his body, he had wanted to interrogate Courfeyrac about if he had known Grantaire was doing kickboxing classes in his extra time. However, his eyelids slipped closed and he gave into the waiting arms of sleep.  
  
Grantaire shifted from foot to foot, readjusting the bouquet in his hands. He was stood on the doorstep of Enjolras’ apartment, uncertain whether he should ring the bell or knock. Courfeyrac had texted him when they had finally left the hospital but Grantaire was not sure if Enjolras was asleep. It was certainly a fracture and he was probably on painkillers, sleeping off the pain. He took a deep breath and rang the doorbell.  
  
Courfeyrac opened the door, his initial look of confusion melted away into a huge grin. “R, long time no see!”  
  
“Is he alright?” Grantaire cut in, hating the flash of hope dance across Courfeyrac’s eyes.

“He’s fine, he’s just sleeping on the couch right now, the painkillers have knocked him out. Combeferre is at home tonight so he’s in safe hands…do you want to come in for a cup of tea?” He stepped to one side.

However, Grantaire shook his head. “I don’t think it would be fair for me to be there whilst he’s sleeping. After all, it’s my fault he broke his wrist.”  
  
Courfeyrac looked slightly upset at Grantaire’s comment. “You can’t blame yourself, R. I’m more to blame. I told him to go to that class, I encouraged him to go out and live a little. And he was the one who didn’t adopt the correct punching technique.” He said gently.  
  
Grantaire nodded. “I suppose you’re right. I just feel so bad, I have never had somebody fracture something in their first class. They’re non-combat classes. I…I brought him a bunch of flowers as an apology.” He passed the bouquet over to Courfeyrac.  
  
“Are you sure you don’t want to come in? I can wake him, I’m sure-“  
  
“I don’t think he wants to see me right now, Courf. Thank you for sparing my feelings but I’m sure the only thing Enjolras needs right now is some sleep.”

  
Courfeyrac nodded, lost for words.  
  
“Will you make sure he gets the flowers? And please tell him that I hope he feels better soon.” Grantaire continued softly.  
  
“Of course, I will, R. Just keep in touch won’t you?” Courfeyrac said.  
  
The artist nodded, a small smile gracing the corner of his lips as he turned on his heel and walked away. Courfeyrac glanced down to the bouquet in his arms, it was beautiful. Reds, whites and blues all blended together. There was no card.  
  
He moved back into the apartment, smiling at the soft snores coming from the lounge. He went in search of a vase in the kitchen. He found one in the back of the cupboard (it looked like Combeferre’s grandmothers.) and placed the bouquet into it. Walking back into the lounge, he smiled at Enjolras still dozing on the couch. His blonde hair fanned out around him, almost like a halo, his shirt was rumpled and the sleeve had rucked up, showing off the red pot he had selected earlier at the hospital. Despite this, his face was smoothed out of any worry and frown lines. He looked peaceful. Courfeyrac set the flowers on the coffee table in front of the sleeping blonde and checking his watch, he lowered himself into the armchair, waiting for Combeferre to return from the hospital.

* * *

  
  
_Spend time with friends_  
  
Enjolras had groaned when he looked at the next item on his list. He loved his friends, but they had a terrible habit of getting involved with things that were none of their business. There was still a slight twinge in his wrist. He looked down at his red cast and then at the bouquet of flowers that were still standing on the coffee table. He hadn’t seen Grantaire since that evening. Courfeyrac told him that the dark haired man had brought him the flowers over. Enjolras had felt his heart pound against his ribcage as he thought about Grantaire standing in the doorway, holding an enormous bunch of roses. His fingers skimmed over one of the flower’s petals as he thought about the artist he still loved.  
  
“I hope you have no plans tonight.” Combeferre said, nervously brushing a hand through his dark brown hair.  
  
Enjolras looked up from his book. “Why so?” He asked his best friend, confusion flooded his features.  
  
“Courfeyrac has arranged a movie night for the entire gang at our apartment. He said it’s been ages since he saw Feuilly and Joly outside of meetings…he told me about it yesterday.”  
  
“Why would I object to an evening with our friends? We have no pressing matters to address that can’t wait for our next meeting. I haven’t seen Joly for weeks either, he is so busy at the hospital nowadays.”  
  
“Courfeyrac invited Grantaire too.” Combeferre said, gently.  
  
Enjolras sighed heavily, laying the book down in his lap. “That’s not a problem. Why would I have a problem with that?”  
  
Combeferre raised an eyebrow at him. “I know you too well, Enjolras.”  
  
“I don’t have a problem with Grantaire coming. Stop worrying about me.”  
  
“I’m not worrying about you. I just wonder if you’re sure you want to see Grantaire so soon after everything that happened.”  
  
“I will be fine. It wouldn’t be fair to leave him out. I want to discuss the new protest plans with Feuilly anyway-“   
  
Combeferre sighed heavily. There was no changing the blonde’s mind. Enjolras fell back against the couch cushion, wondering if he had done the right thing. He couldn’t stop thinking about dark curls and forest green eyes.  
  
Enjolras had thrown himself into his studies, he was drafting an essay that wasn’t due for another three weeks in his bedroom when he heard a knock at the door.  
  
“Enjolras, put your essay away. Everyone is here.” Combeferre’s calm tone filtered through the door.  
  
The blonde sighed heavily, pushing his essay away. He scraped a hand through his hair, tousling it slightly. Standing up, he went to go and check his appearance in the mirror. Enjolras was not a vain man by any standards. Courfeyrac would laugh if he saw his best friend flattening his hair and checking that his shirt wasn’t too rumpled in the glass before him. Satisfied that he looked okay, he left his room, moving towards the sounds of muffled conversation, laughter and faint music coming from the lounge.  
  
Enjolras felt the grin spread across his face as he took in the scene before him. On the couch, Courfeyrac, cheeks already red and an equally red drink in his hand, was sitting on Combeferre’s lap. Courfeyrac was giggling into Combeferre’s chest at something the bespectacled man was saying, Combeferre’s tattooed arm was hooked around the dark haired man. Jehan was squeezed in next to them, Bahorel sat between the poet’s legs, giggling as Jehan plaited Bahorel’s dark hair with expert hands. Eponine was next to Jehan, squeezed tightly on the end. She, and Cosette, who was perched in the armchair on Marius’ lap, were deep in conversation with one another, their heads, blonde and brunette, pushed together.  
  
Bossuet, Joly and Musichetta were curled up on the two large beanbags that covered the wooden floor. Musichetta was tracing patterns on Bossuet’s leg with one hand, the other was entwined with Joly’s. Joly had his legs tangled with Bossuet’s. Grantaire sat on the other couch, opposite the armchair. Dark green eyes met blue. Enjolras licked his lips, his mouth feeling dry.  
  
However, thankfully for the blonde, Feuilly, who was seated next to Grantaire, pulled Enjolras over to where he was sitting and immediately started up a conversation. Enjolras answered all of his good friend’s questions, however, part of his attention was stolen away by the dark haired artist, dark eyes following his every movement. Wine and spirits soon followed the conversation.  
  
“So what movie are we going to watch?” Courfeyrac barked, teetering ever so slightly, his lips were red from his cocktail.  
  
Combeferre watched his boyfriend with a fond look.  
  
“I recommend the Notebook.” He continued, his voice slightly slurred. Eponine and Cosette booed the suggestion loudly.  
  
“Come now, ladies, I want better suggestions then.” The dark haired man said.  
  
“Fight Club.” Bahorel chipped in.  
  
Joly and Feuilly voiced their disapproval. “We watched Fight Club a couple of weeks ago.”  
  
“Lord of the Rings.”  
  
“We have class tomorrow.”  
  
“The Dark Knight.”  
  
“Oh, yes, let’s watch that movie for the millionth time.”  
  
“The Matrix.”  
  
“No.”  
  
After half an hour of everyone throwing ideas and general insults at one another’s movie tastes around, they finally agreed on Indiana Jones. (It was also partly to do with the fact that Marius piped up that he had never seen them, which deeply offended Bahorel, Eponine and even Combeferre. They all settled down once more, silence sweeping over the room as Joly dimmed the lights and the movie began. Enjolras couldn’t focus on the film. There was still a slight twinge of pain from his wrist. He was too aware of Grantaire sitting next to him. He knew the artist was deliberately moving out of his way. Their thighs were not even brushing and yet, Enjolras could feel the heat and the tension between them. He wondered if Grantaire felt the same. The blonde kept shooting little glances towards his dark haired ex-lover, as though he would disappear if Enjolras’ eyes left him.  
Halfway through the film, Enjolras felt his eyes slide shut. He tried to fight the feeling, focusing intently on Harrison Ford, however, his body’s urges were greater and his eyes fell shut once more.  
  
Grantaire watched their leader carefully, his attention solely on the blonde at his side. A grin tugged at his lips as he watched Enjolras fight against his body’s will to sleep. The smile did not falter as Enjolras’ head slumped to one side, resting gently against Grantaire’s shoulder. His potted arm fell to one side, across Grantaire’s legs. Grantaire glanced around, the others were still too engrossed in the movie to realise that their leader had fallen asleep against him. The blonde curls were still as soft as he remembered, they were shining softly, basked gold in the dim light of the television. Grantaire found himself watching his leader. Dark gold eyelashes, a high forehead with unmarked ivory skin, large red lips and a smattering of freckles across his cheeks, Grantaire had missed looking over Enjolras’ beauty. His fingers began to itch for a pencil or chalk, anything to document the blonde’s look of peace.  
  
Grantaire moved slightly, drawing a slight groan from Enjolras. A crease appeared on his brow, as though to scold the artist for moving and disturbing him. Enjolras moved closer, his face pressed against the soft fabric of Grantaire’s faded t-shirt. Grantaire drew in a breath, shifting slightly as he felt a familiar sensation jolt across his chest. Looking down at the slumbering blonde, he wondered if he had made a mistake. He still loved Enjolras, he thought that he would never stop loving the man. Judging by the swelling in his pants, his sexual feelings towards Enjolras had not dissipated either. Thoughts swirled around inside Grantaire’s head as Enjolras slept on, unaware.  
  
Enjolras woke up with a slight pain in his neck, he looked around the darkened room in confusion. He remembered very little, Indiana Jones, his eyelids falling shut, the warmth of Grantaire next to him…Grantaire. He sat up, abruptly and moved to switch the light on. He did not realise the body next to him. The room became basked in light. There was a heavy groan at the side of him.  
  
Courfeyrac emerged from the covers next to Enjolras, his dark hair dishevelled. “Wha…E, what is going on? It’s four in the morning.” He asked, his voice still thick with sleep.  
  
There was a familiar snore at the side of him, Enjolras knew instantly that Combeferre was curled up on his other side. He glanced down, spotting the dark brown hair peeking out of the duvet, the glasses placed carefully on the bedside table to the side.  
  
“I…what are you and Ferre doing in my bed?” Enjolras asked quietly, not wanting to wake his best friend up. Combeferre was very grumpy before his morning coffee.  
  
“You and Ferre are in my bed.” Courfeyrac answered thickly.  
  
“Oh…has everyone else gone home?”  
  
“Everyone except Grantaire…he fell asleep like you so we left him in Combeferre’s bed.”  
  
“I…I fell asleep?” Enjolras asked, confusion was still lingering, like the sleep in the corners of his eyes.  
  
“You fell asleep within the first thirty minutes, E. But don’t worry, Grantaire was there to be your pillow. Bahorel carried you to our bed.”  
  
Enjolras said nothing. Courfeyrac felt a small smile at the blush spreading across his best friend’s cheeks.  
  
“You want to talk about it?” Courfeyrac whispered, after a moment of silence. He sat up, mirroring Enjolras’ stance.  
  
“I’m not sure.”  
  
“We haven’t talked about it yet, E. It isn’t healthy for you to keep all of this inside. I know that I’m not Combeferre and I won’t say exactly what you need to hear, but I am worried about you, E.”  
  
“There’s no need to be worried.”  
  
“I’m your best friend, E. It’s sort of in the job description.” Courfeyrac said, his voice remaining gentle.  
  
“I…I just need time.” Enjolras said, his fingers began to fiddle with the blanket.  
  
Courfeyrac placed his hand on top of the blondes to still his movements. “I understand.”  
  
Courfeyrac’s eyes shone in the light. “I’m sorry that I’ve been pushing you so much. I just want you to be happy, as happy as me and…” He glanced over at the sleeping bundle next to Enjolras.  
  
“I know. I know you do. I want to be happy again too. But-“ Enjolras stopped.  
  
“You’re still in love with Grantaire, aren’t you?”  
  
“I am not afraid to admit that, Courf.”  
  
“Then what are you afraid of?”  
  
“That he will never look at me again the way he used to…like I was the only thing he believed in.”  
  
They sat in silence for a few more moments, before Courfeyrac’s fingers enveloped the blondes. “He would never stop believing in you.”  
  
“I hope you are right.”  
  
“You know I am right. Grantaire will always love you.”  
  
Enjolras nodded, not quite believing his best friend. Courfeyrac leaned over and switched the light off, his hand never left Enjolras’.

* * *

  
Sun streamed through the thin curtains, awaking Enjolras from his slumber. He glanced around, taking in his surroundings. His memories were very distorted; he remembered sitting next to Grantaire, the heat of his thighs and discussing something with Courfeyrac, his best friend’s hand enveloping his own. The bed was empty and cold, Combeferre and Courfeyrac were early risers. Enjolras looked at the clock, it was 9AM. Thankfully, he did not have any classes until midday but he hated that he had slept in. It was rare that he slept past 7. He sighed heavily, forcing himself out of the warmth of the bed and padded out of Combeferre’s bedroom to the kitchen.  
  
The smell of coffee filled his nostrils and he moved towards that wonderful smell. He walked into the kitchen only to come face to face with forest green eyes and dishevelled dark curls.  
  
“Grantaire?” He said, his voice still hoarse from sleep.  
  
The artist had just finished brewing the coffee, just the way Enjolras liked it. He did not intend to stay at his leader’s apartment, however, Combeferre and Courfeyrac had insisted that he stay and help himself to breakfast before they both left for classes earlier that morning. He had just sat down with a cup of black coffee and a plate of eggs. He was about to raise the cup to his lips when Enjolras stumbled through the kitchen door clad in nothing but a red pair of boxer shorts and a long sleeved shirt that looked like it belonged to Combeferre. Grantaire pushed away the brief stab of jealousy at seeing the blonde in someone else’s clothes. He knew that Combeferre and Courfeyrac were an item, and Enjolras considered his two best friends as brothers.  
  
“Morning, Enjolras.” Grantaire said, a small smile graced his lips as he watched his ex-lover’s eyes widen in surprise at the sight of him.  
  
However, the walls swiftly fell back down upon the blonde. He padded over to the coffee machine. “Is there any coffee left?”  
  
Grantaire felt the smile widen. Enjolras wasn’t much of a morning person, he didn’t function well without the first shot of caffeine in his system. He watched the beautiful blonde shuffle over to the coffee machine.  
  
“There’s some eggs left if you’re hungry.” He said to the leader, turning back to his own breakfast. Enjolras fell into the chair opposite holding nothing but a cup of coffee. He sipped from it slowly, focused only on the coffee for a minute, before he turned his blue eyes upon the artist.  
  
“I heard that you stayed overnight.”  
  
“Yeah…” Grantaire felt the blush sweep across his cheeks. “I stayed in Ferre’s bed. I too ended up falling asleep and apparently refused to move.”  
  
Enjolras gave the dark haired man a slight smile. “I don’t think Combeferre even stays in that room anymore. By the way…I am sorry that I fell asleep on you last night. It was…inappropriate of me.”  
  
Grantaire shook his head. “Listen, it’s okay. You didn’t know that you were going to fall asleep on you. Don’t blame yourself for your body’s involuntary reaction.”  
  
Enjolras bit his lip. Grantaire wanted nothing more than to kiss the blonde at that very moment.  
  
“I just…feel bad. I suppose it is as bad for you…I mean, our friends are insistent on us carrying on as normal.”  
  
“But everything is normal isn’t it?” Grantaire said, taking a bite of his eggs.  
  
There was a slight pause.  
  
“Yeah….” Enjolras answered, worrying his lip between his teeth, his white fingers wrapped around his coffee cup.  
  
“Everything is normal, we’re fine.”  
  
Grantaire could sense the lie.

* * *

  
After the movie night, Enjolras threw himself into seeing more of his friends outside of meetings and keeping himself busy so his thoughts were not filled with a certain dark haired artist. He attended Italian classes with Feuilly, which he enjoyed immensely. Feuilly was excellent company and they both picked up the language quickly. He visited several museums with Combeferre, watching the medical student draw the dinosaur bones, fingers coloured by charcoal. They went to the planetarium, Enjolras intrigued by the various crystals enclosed in cases, listening to his best friend’s calm and low voice talk of galaxies and meteorites. Enjolras went to the movies with Courfeyrac several times. They watched a political thriller, a comedy and even a romantic film (of which they both laughed in the back corner, making kissy noises at the screen, their fingers sticky with popcorn butter.) He attended Joly’s medical speech; the smile never left his face as he watched his friend deliver a pitch perfect performance. After the speech had ended, he found himself congratulating the trainee doctor, enveloping him in a hug. Joly laughed. The blonde went to Jehan’s poetry recital, grinning when the red haired man took to the stage and delivered an emotional and beautiful poem. Jehan caught Enjolras in the audience and smiled widely. He gave Enjolras the original copy of the poem he had read out on that night.   
  
“I wrote it with you in mind.” The Romantic said softly.   
  
Enjolras met Cosette for coffee the next week, the blonde was eager to have a long conversation with the leader. They talked not only of Enjolras’ feelings but of history, politics and even biology. Enjolras left the coffee shop with a warm feeling in his heart. However, despite his attempts to keep busy and his friends’ best efforts, he could not stop thinking about Grantaire.  
  
Grantaire.  
  
He wondered if the dark haired man was seeing enough of their friends, if he had met up with Eponine recently, gone to boxing with Bahorel or even gone for coffee with Courfeyrac.  
  
He pulled out his phone, his fingers stopped on the dark haired man’s number. He typed out nine messages in total but did not send any.  


* * *

  
_Give old things back to R_  
  
Enjolras had been dreading this particular step on the list. He wasn’t a materialistic man, however, it wasn’t made of emotionless fine marble as Grantaire used to proclaim. The blonde leader was seated on his bed, sifting through a box. There were so many memories within the box, ticket stubs from the first time he, Combeferre and Courfeyrac went to the movies, a painted fan from Feuilly, the poem written for him by Jehan. He pulled out an old sketchbook, the emerald cover was worn and cracked. Enjolras smiled down at the book, cracking the spine and flicking through it. The sketchbook had made Enjolras realise that Grantaire had feelings for him. Enjolras remembered that particular evening as though it were yesterday. It had been December, close to Christmas, the Musain was warm, colourful, covered in decorations. The meeting had been drawn to a close. The members of the ABC were scattered around in the café in various groups, talking excitedly.  
  
Enjolras sat in a corner of the Musain, one of his speeches for next week was laid out on the table before him. He was wearing his glasses; usually he wore his contacts but his eyes had felt so dry and itchy this morning that he’d decided against it. He pushed the glasses back up on his face, wondering how Combeferre coped with them on a regular basis. The blonde had been so focused on his speech that he didn’t realise he was being watched.

“I didn’t know you wore glasses.” A familiar voice piped up.  
  
Enjolras froze, looking up carefully. “There’s a lot of things you don’t know.” He replied, taking in the drunken artist standing before him.  
  
Grantaire placed his beer on the table and pulled up a chair. Enjolras resisted the urge to let the sigh that was hanging on his lips pass.  
  
“That is true, Ap-“ The nickname died in Grantaire’s mouth as the leader fixed him with a glance. His eyes were like blue chips of ice.  
  
“I told you not to call me that.” Enjolras said, evenly.  
  
“I could give you another nickname.”  
  
“Why do you insist on giving me a nickname?” Enjolras asked, putting down his pen. He knew it was impossible to continue with his work when the artist was around.  
  
“Because I don’t think I am worthy to call you by your name.” Grantaire replied, his voice quiet. His eyes met the floor.  
  
Enjolras’ eyes softened. “Why do you not think you are worthy?”  
  
“You are a God in comparison to people like me…I mean, you are writing something that makes people listen. You are writing something that will change the world.”  
  
“You can’t know that for sure.”  
  
“I know, Enjolras. I know that you will change the world. You don’t have time for people like me.”  
  
“People like me? What does that mean?”  
  
Grantaire shook his head, the smile still lingering on his lips. “People like you change the world, you are accepted by everyone without question-“  
  
“But I need others to reach my goal. You think that you are not important.”  
  
Grantaire remained silent.  
  
“I need people like you, Grantaire, to ground me and to keep me within reality. You are a thinker, you don’t run into situations like me.”  
  
“This is all very touching, Enjolras.” Grantaire cut in, taking a pull from his beer bottle. “But you don’t have to spare my feelings.”  
  
“I’m not, you know I wouldn’t-“ Enjolras replied. “I just think that you are more important than you believe you are. To the group and to me.”  
  
“That’s sweet, Enjolras. You don’t have to pretend that I am worth anything though.” Grantaire said, downing the rest of his drink and leaving.  
  
Enjolras stared after the dark haired artist. There was an emerald coloured sketchbook lying on the table in the place of Grantaire. Enjolras, curious as ever, picked it up and examined it carefully.

The drawings within the sketchbook was as vibrant and haunting as they had been when Enjolras’ eyes had first swept over them. The sketchbook was full of pictures of the Les Amis drawn by Grantaire. However, the majority of them, using only red, white and red, were of Enjolras. Enjolras turned through the pages, pausing on one particular image. It was of himself, standing on top of a barricade, an unfurled red flag weaving around his body. He looked the image of an avenging angel; his curly blonde hair, the red flag and his ever present red jacket were the only splashes of colour on the piece. The image took away Enjolras’ breath each time.  
  
He recalled the first time he saw it that evening in the Musain. He pulled the book towards him, fingering the worn green cover. He longed to open it, but he respected Grantaire’s wishes. The sketchbook had clearly been carried around, the spine had been cracked several times, the pages slightly dog-eared. There was flicks of various colours of paint scattered across the cover as well as a few stains of charcoal and artist pen. Enjolras picked up the book carefully, as though it were a baby, to place into his messenger bag to give to Grantaire later.  
  
However, in his haste to put the book away, he dropped it on the floor and the book fell open on a particular drawing. It was of Enjolras himself. The blonde’s mouth fell open. Grantaire was talented. He had managed to display the raw emotion of Enjolras’ character with a pencil and paper. Enjolras felt his fingers trace over the drawing gently, examining every little detail. Grantaire had even managed to include the small scar just above Enjolras’ eye that he received as a child. Enjolras thought about their conversation. Were Grantaire’s feelings for him deeper than Enjolras thought? Glancing back down at the paper, Enjolras was hit with a sudden realisation.   
  
Grantaire _believed_ in _him_. Nobody would pore such emotion and passion into their drawings if they did not. Grantaire _loved_ him.  
  
He pushed the book into his bag and shrugged his coat on, stepping out of the warmth of the Musain into the cold night.  


* * *

  
Grantaire had made it back to his own apartment when he realised that he had left his sketchbook at the Musain. He rubbed a hand over his face, groaning loudly. He had just made a fool of himself in front of Enjolras in more or less admitting that he was in love with the man and now he had left one of his prized possessions in front of the man who detested him. Grantaire blushed deeply when he remembered some of the drawings within the book. He hoped that Enjolras’ curiosity would not be roused. His hands itched for a sketchbook, for some charcoal, he wanted to draw Enjolras as he had seen him that night. The walls that the blonde had painstakingly built had seemed to come down in the soft light of the Musain. His thoughts were interrupted by a loud knock. He went over to the door and opened it, wondering who on earth would call in on him so late at night.  
  
“Enjolras?” He said in amazement.  
  
The man that possessed Grantaire’s heart was stood in the doorway, his blonde hair was illuminated by the light in the hallway. It looked like a halo; he looked like an angel. Grantaire said nothing, his mouth still open at the sight of the blonde in his doorway.  
  
Enjolras worried his lip between his teeth. “I have something of yours, you left it in the Musain.” His ice blue gaze finally left Grantaire as he dipped into his bag and drew out the green sketchbook.  
  
“Oh…thank you.” Grantaire said, his gaze remained on the floor. He accepted the sketchbook from Enjolras, their fingers brushed against one another for a second and Grantaire exhaled heavily.  
  
“I…it fell open as I put it into my bag. I saw one of the drawings…the one of me.”  
  
Grantaire froze in horror.“I…I’m sorry, I never meant-“  
  
“You’re very talented, Grantaire.” Enjolras’ tone of voice made Grantaire glance up. He was met with the deep blue gaze once more. He glanced over Enjolras’ pale skin, focusing on the small scar above Enjolras’ eye. He liked the scar, it reminded him of the fact that Enjolras was not perfect. It gave him a touch of humanity.  
  
“I…thank you, Enjolras. That means a lot.”  
  
“I thought about things after you left. I thought about…you. I didn’t know that you were showing your true feelings the whole time. You truly do believe in me.”  
  
Grantaire smiled, moving forward. “I have always believed in you. I always will.” He reached out and clasped Enjolras’ smooth jaw against his hand, his finger stroking softly over the pale skin. Enjolras did not stiffen at the action, he looked into the forest green eyes of the artist.  
  
“You love me.” Enjolras said after a moment, his eyes never leaving Grantaire’s.  
  
“I have always loved you, since the day I met you.” Grantaire whispered, his heart beating against his ribcage.  
  
“I…I think I have feelings for you. I-“ The corners of Grantaire’s mouth upturned ever so slightly as he watched the blonde wrestle with his feelings and how to articulate himself, something he usually was good at. His hand fell away from Enjolras’ face.  
  
Grantaire said no more, and with the sketchbook under his arm, he pulled Enjolras into his flat. Their hands did not part. Enjolras looked down at their entwined hands and smiled.  
  
Enjolras was pulled back into the present by a knock at the door. After a few moments, it opened carefully and Combeferre entered the room, quietly.  
  
“I was making waffles and I wondered if you wanted any…” The words died on Combeferre’s tongue as he took notice of the familiar sketchbook resting in his best friend’s hands. “Are you okay?”  
  
“I don’t know, Ferre. It’s like…I seem to be doing okay and then I keep losing my way.” Enjolras said softly. Combeferre said nothing at first, moving to sit on the bed beside the blonde.  
  
“You’re not losing your way, Enjolras. What you are experiencing is humanity. You are human, as much as you try to conceal it sometimes. You’re suffering from heartbreak, everybody goes through it at some point in their lives.”  
  
“I know that, I just-“  
  
“You feel lost. You feel like you don’t know yourself anymore, like you’ve lost a part of yourself.”  
  
“How do you know all of this?”  
  
Combeferre’s dark eyes flashed for a moment behind his glasses. “That is a story for another time-“  
  
“Before Courfeyrac?”  
  
“Before Courfeyrac, yes.”  
  
“I just don’t know if I’ll feel the same ever again. I’m trying to move on and get on with my life.”  
  
“Feelings are not easy things to discard, Enjolras.”  
  
“I know…I just hate being dictated by such things, Ferre.” Enjolras wiped his eyes with his fist. He was angry with himself, he let Grantaire get in and take hold of his heart. It felt heavy.  
  
“We all are dictated by feelings. No matter how much we wish to hide them…you should not begrudge Grantaire for changing your feelings though.” He looked down at Enjolras, who had moved his hand over the sketchbook, his fingers dancing over the cover gently.  
  
“I don’t begrudge him. I just wish that I was this emotional-less marble statue that he thought I was. It would make it easier. I just…I miss him, Ferre. I am not used to needing people, much less missing them.”  
  
“I understand how you feel, E. Falling in love is a messy thing and nobody will prepare you for it. It is something that everyone goes through. It doesn’t make it any easier.” Combeferre moved closer towards his best friend. “Remember when we were children? You proclaimed that you would never fall in love.”  
  
“And you said that you would never get married.” Enjolras said, a small smile spreading across his lips as he looked up at his best friend.  
  
“I still haven’t gotten married yet.”  
  
“Give it time, Ferre. Courfeyrac already has a wedding pinterest.” He chuckled at the blank look on Combeferre’s face.  
  
“I don’t know what that is…I will ask him about it later. So I heard that Courfeyrac wrote you a list of ways to get over Grantaire.”  
  
Enjolras groaned. “It’s going terribly. Every time I attempt something on the list, I end up bumping into him. How am I supposed to get over him if I can’t even escape him?”  
  
“There lies the problem.” Combeferre said, adjusting his glasses. “Not seeing him has become an escape. You are still not comfortable in accepting that you still have feelings for Grantaire and so you are drawn into a state of panic every time you see him.”  
  
Enjolras nodded.  
  
He was about to ask how he could fix this but Combeferre sensed the question and continued, “There is no quick-fix for giving up feelings for someone. There is only one solution and that is time. Acceptance is also important. You need to accept that his feelings have changed, if you do this, you don’t have to lose him completely. You could still be friends with Grantaire…in time obviously when the pain is not so raw…Also, do not take advice from a list that my boyfriend made for you. Don’t you remember the six dates a week?”  
  
Enjolras laughed lightly, his fingers still danced over the pencil strokes. “I do…he was a bigger mess than I am when it came to emotions before he realised his feelings for you. But I understand that Courf wants to help. The list is helping in a stupid way…it told me to rid myself of old memories but-“ His grip tightened on the sketchbook.  
  
“Enjolras.” Combeferre gave his best friend a firm look. “Do not throw your memories away because you think it will take away your pain. It will mask it for a few minutes before it returns. Besides, Grantaire is still your friend is he not? You should keep the sketchbook if it makes you happy, if you still believe that you are friends.”  
  
“Friends.” Enjolras repeated, clutching the sketchbook to his chest.  
  
“Thank you, Ferre, for all your help.”  
  
“That’s what friends do.” Combeferre said, getting off the bed. He moved over to the door. “Remember Enjolras? This is based on your terms.”  
  
The door closed. Enjolras looked down at the sketchbook nestled in his arms. He opened the book, carding through the pages, his eyes taking in other details. The book did not end up in the bin, it remained out of the box, however, taking a place on Enjolras’ desk by his in tray.

* * *

  
  
_Keep yourself busy_  
  
Courfeyrac had written _but do not overdo it_ in a red pen, the untidy scrawl was underlined twice. Enjolras scoffed. His best friend knew him too well. He remembered the day after he and Grantaire had shared their first kiss; it was almost a year to the day they had been introduced in the Musain, they had traded insults regularly, Grantaire sat in the corner of the Musain, sipping on a beer and taking pleasure in tearing strips off Enjolras’ arguments. That was all forgotten with chapped dry lips meeting, uncertainty, Grantaire’s hands pressed against his jacket, eyes locking, he’d tore his mouth away from Grantaire’s, ignoring the fact that the artist had reciprocated the kiss. He’d gone home, lips still itching from the kiss, and pulled out his itinerary. He’d managed to revise the notes from the last three meetings, email his professors for some extra background reading materials, sent four emails to Combeferre, double checked his essay that was due in in three weeks and contacted the bookstore to hunt down a book for Courfeyrac’s birthday. His lips still tingled the entire time. His body felt phantom touches of Grantaire; hands gripping his shoulders, fingers dancing against his hips.  
He groaned heavily, tasking a swig of his coffee. He remembered how Combeferre finally pulled him away from his laptop, glaring disapprovingly at the four empty coffee cups at Enjolras’ elbow.  
  
“I can explain.” Enjolras said, a slight shake in his shoulders.  
  
Combeferre said nothing and cleared away the cups, replacing them with a hot cup of green tea. He noticed the slight crinkle in Enjolras’ nose, and chuckled. “I put two teaspoons of honey in it. Also, you are coming to watch a movie with Courfeyrac and I. He is insisting.”  
  
“But-“  
  
“You’ve done enough today. Come and watch the film.”

* * *

  
  
Enjolras checked his emails for the seventeenth time. He was following Courfeyrac’s next step, a steaming cup of coffee at his side. He opened up his assignment and read through it again, trying not to think about Grantaire. It seemed every time the blonde had a spare moment, his mind turned to the dark haired artist. He wondered if Grantaire was at university or at home, if those hands were covered in charcoal or grasping the green duvet. Enjolras’ thoughts did not turn to Grantaire in a morning, ruffled dark curls on the pillow, forest green eyes staring at him, the slight dark stubble dusting across Grantaire’s face. Enjolras groaned heavily, tugging a hand through his blonde curls. He needed to stop thinking about Grantaire. He pulled his laptop closer to him, readjusting the second paragraph once more before he sent the finished article off to Combeferre for proofreading. Enjolras closed the document and immediately began looking over his draft notes for next week’s meeting.  
  
An hour later, the draft was completed. Enjolras moved to the kitchen to refill his coffee cup, only to find there was no coffee left. (Combeferre usually replenished the supply and well, Courfeyrac had kept him busy recently). Enjolras sighed and packed his laptop and his notes into his satchel. He’d go to the Musain to study. He needed coffee.  
  
He had settled down into his usual corner of the Musain with a fresh cup of coffee, his earbuds firmly in to remove the usual din from the chatter of the university crowd. However, in his haste to pull his laptop from his bag, his fingers grazed against something else. Brow taut with confusion, he pulled the offending item from his bag and felt his heart jump in his chest. The green sketchbook. He had forgotten that he had placed it in his bag with the intention of giving it back to Grantaire. He traced over the smooth cover, his fingers carding over the pages, slightly crinkled from the wet materials that the talented artist had used on them. He flipped open the book, letting his fingers trace over the ornate, stylised R on the inside cover. The emerald ink had long seen dried but Enjolras found himself thinking about the ink running down Grantaire’s fingers, along his wrist, flowing over the dark tattoos. He groaned and shut the sketchbook with a little more force than he usually did, placing it carefully back into his bag.  
  
Why couldn’t he stop thinking about Grantaire?  
  
He felt his eyes ache and swiped a hand over them for a moment. He had finished typing up his notes for next week’s meeting and sent them to Combeferre, Courfeyrac and Feuilly to double check everything and ask them for any extra input, the reading for the classes next week was complete. He had even managed to email his parents. He was in the process of following up the material that Professor Valjean had recommended, typing furiously on his laptop that he almost missed the steaming hot cup of coffee that suddenly appeared at his elbow.  
  
“You looked like you needed a fresh cup.” A familiar voice said. Enjolras’ shoulders stiffened ever so slightly, he knew that voice; the voice that sounded like slightly warm honey, the edge of cigarettes on the end of the words. He looked up and came face to face with green eyes.  
  
  
Grantaire smirked and slid into the chair opposite the blonde.  
  
He had stood and watched Enjolras work from the coffee counter, a smile curled across his lips as he watched the blonde type furiously into his laptop, head slightly bent, blonde curls fell into his face. His teeth were caught between his lips; there was a slight furrow on his brow. Grantaire loved watching Enjolras study, there was something even more ethereal about the man when he was engrossed in something. It was almost as amazing as when Enjolras gave an empowered and passionate speech. He seemed to looked inhuman, blonde hair almost glowing as he stood, watching the world slowly change from his words. He ordered an extra cup of coffee and fighting back every urge to retreat, he walked towards the blonde who still had not noticed that he was been observed. When he finally spoke out, he watched as the blonde jolted slightly at his voice. He sat down and looked over Enjolras. He looked tired, there were smudges of shadows underneath his eyes and his skin was a little paler than usual.  
  
“Sorry for interrupting. I just thought you could use some company.”  
  
Enjolras nodded, picking up the cup of hot coffee. “Thanks for the coffee.”  
  
“It’s no problem. How are you doing?” Grantaire leaned back in his chair.  
  
“I’m okay. I just…I’ve had a lot of work to do at the moment. Lots of assignments and meeting notes to check over. I still have a bunch of things to check over. How about you?”  
Enjolras hated this, he hated being so cordial with Grantaire. The conversation was so stilted, it reminded him of Christmases and holidays with his parents.  
  
“I’m okay. I’ve got an exhibition coming up…you look tired. Are you sleeping okay?”  
  
“When is your exhibition?” Enjolras avoided the question. He didn’t want to tell Grantaire that he was the reason that he wasn’t sleeping too well. He kept dreaming about the artist.  
  
“It’s soon…I’ll let you know exactly when it is.” Grantaire didn’t meet Enjolras’ eyes.  
  
“Are you still living with Bahorel and Feuilly?” Enjolras changed the subject, realising that Grantaire felt uncomfortable.  
  
“Yeah…how are Combeferre and Courfeyrac? I haven’t seen them in so long because…you know.” Grantaire made a vague hand movement. He didn’t have to finish his sentence, he knew the reason that Grantaire hadn’t been around to their apartment since he used the artist’s shoulder as a pillow.  
  
“They’re okay, still in love. It’s sickening to watch sometimes.” Enjolras laughed, but it felt hollow in his throat.  
  
“I can imagine.” Grantaire said. He fiddled with his cup. “Listen…I…I’m sorry that I haven’t been around for a while. I just thought…I thought that you’d manage better without seeing me for a while you know? But it’s hard because I really value your friendship, E. No matter what has happened between us, I want us to be friends.”  
  
“We are friends.” Enjolras said, wondering if his tone was too defensive.  
  
“Enjolras…I know you’re not the most outgoing and emotionally sensitive person of all time, but you never hold back your emotions like you are doing now.”  
  
“I am not holding anything back…I just…I don’t know what to say to you anymore, Grantaire.”  
  
“Listen, if you don’t want to be friends-“  
  
“This is nothing to do with friendship!” Enjolras roared, he felt the anger rise up inside him.  
  
“This is you feeling guilty about ending our relationship for no apparent reason. You felt guilty so you decided to just stay friends with me.”  
  
“No apparent reason?” Grantaire spluttered, his eyes were dark with anger. “I’d hardly call never seeing my boyfriend no apparent reason.”  
  
“You ended our relationship because you never saw me? We had meetings together, I stayed over at your place, we went to the movies-“  
  
“You were working most of the time, Enjolras! I’d hardly call that time for us to bond and interact as a couple. You ignored me at all the meetings.”  
  
“You drank at the meetings.”

“I’ve been sober for over six months. I stopped drinking the day you and I got together. I haven’t started again since we broke up.”  
  
Enjolras wanted to congratulate the artist but the anger was still pressing against his chest. He just wanted Grantaire to be honest with him.  
  
“You just need to learn that you can’t work all the time, Enjolras. I love you. I love you with everything I had, but I just…I didn’t want to be second best to your cause. You can’t do everything, the world’s burden doesn’t rest purely on your shoulders. Focus on the things that matter.”  
  
“So some of the things I do don’t matter? I knew your feelings regarding what I do. You don’t believe in anything.”  
  
“I believed in you. That was enough.”  
  
With the words hanging in the air, Grantaire left, the smell of patchouli and tobacco stuck in Enjolras’ nose. It wasn’t until the coffee had gone cold that Enjolras realised that Grantaire had used the present tense.

* * *

 

  
_Go on dates with other people_  
  
“You had a fight with Grantaire.” Courfeyrac said, matter of factly.  
  
They were once more in the Musain, Enjolras was hunched over his computer, he had a Word document open but it remained blank. He actually didn’t have any work to do at the moment, he just needed to get out of the apartment. The blonde was hoping that none of his friends would turn up, Grantaire had probably told them all about what transpired between the two of them.  
  
“It wasn’t an _argument_ , Courf.” Enjolras said, rubbing his temples gently to ease his growing headache. “It was more of a disagreement.”  
  
“A disagreement, right. That’s not what Musichetta said. She said you ended up both screaming at each other in here about why you broke up.”  
  
“I’d rather not talk about it…it was just…He never told me why he wanted to part ways and it’s a horrible feeling knowing what he truly thought about me.”  
  
“He doesn’t think that of you...you know that.” Courfeyrac said, sipping on his hot chocolate. He looked thoughtful.  
  
“I don’t know what to think anymore.” Enjolras replied, honestly.  
  
They sat in silence. Enjolras watched Courfeyrac drank his hot chocolate. His word document stayed blank.

* * *

  
It was Thursday night. The Musain was buzzing, the lights were muted and a light flow of conversation flowed through the small coffee shop. Enjolras sat on the corner as usual, deep in conversation with Combeferre and Feuilly; he nodded to the points Feuilly made with vigour. Combeferre, at Enjolras’ right as he was usually, was taking notes, his eyes ablaze under his glasses. They always discussed issues just before the meeting began to ensure it went as smoothly as possible. Combeferre, however, kept glancing up toward the door as though he was waiting for someone. The bespectacled medical student did not have long to wait.   
  
“Guess who has a date on Friday?” Courfeyrac burst through the door of the Musain, his cheeks slightly red from the cold. He wound his blue snood from around his neck, dropping into the seat next to Combeferre. Combeferre smiled gently at the sight of his boyfriend, accepting the brief peck to his cheek.  
  
“A date? I thought…” Feuilly was the first to look confused. “You and Combeferre, looking to experiment?”  
  
Courfeyrac laughed. “Oh god no. Combeferre and I are very happy together. The date is for Enjolras.”  
  
Enjolras’ felt the blush spread across his cheeks. The conversation around the Musain had stopped. He dare not glance up at the faces of his friends, especially in the other corner where he knew Grantaire was sitting with Eponine and Bahorel, a Coke clasped between his fingers.  
  
“I didn’t know Enjolras dated.” Feuilly said carefully, his dark eyes moving shifted to Grantaire for a second before returning to Courfeyrac.  
  
“Can we talk about this later? Now everyone is here, we can discuss the meeting.” Enjolras quickly changed the subject, his eyes flickered over to Grantaire. The dark haired artist’s face held a look of hurt but only for a second before it was replaced with indifference. Enjolras tried to ignore Grantaire as he started the meeting.  
  
The meeting itself went without a hitch. Enjolras managed to get through everything he had mentioned and Combeferre picked up on the parts that he missed. However, when the blonde dropped back into his chair, he lifted his eyes to scope out Grantaire. Only to find him missing. The glass of Coke, half full, was still sitting on the table, a beermat perched on the top. Enjolras realised that both Eponine and Bahorel were also missing from the table. Combeferre eyed him carefully, nodding as the two of them appeared to exchange a silent conversation. Enjolras stood up, intent on finding the dark haired artist and apologising for their war of words the day before. The bell tinkled above the door. Enjolras stepped out into the cold air, shivering slightly. He immediately regretted not slipping his jacket on, but he was so intent on finding Grantaire and explaining things.

  
“I can’t believe that fuckhead.” He paused. He knew that voice; ragged, rough and feminine. Eponine.  
  
A plume of smoke rose up around the corner.  
  
“Please don’t call him that.” Another voice said, the one that Enjolras wanted to find.  
  
Grantaire sounded softer, almost vulnerable. There was silence for a moment, the sound of lips against cigarette filters, Enjolras could imagine Grantaire in front of him, chapped lips pulling on the cigarette, the grey-blue plumes of smoke curling around his dark hair and around his pale face.  
  
“I’ll call him whatever I like.” Eponine spat.  
  
“Ep.” Bahorel’s clear, calm voice made its owner’s presence known.  
  
“I’m sorry, R. I just can’t believe that-“  
  
“Ep, please. I don’t need the reminder.” Grantaire sounded pained. Enjolras bit his lip.  
  
“Why would he do that to you though? He basically announced that he had moved on in front of everyone. When did he even go on dates anyway? He doesn’t do boyfriends.”

  
“He didn’t move on, Ep.”  
  
Bahorel chimed in, “I overheard Courfeyrac’s conversation, he was the one who decided that it would be easier for Enjolras to get…over R if he went on a date. He was the one who arranged Enjolras’ date.”  
  
“That is brilliant logic, if Enjolras was like Courf.” Eponine said, her voice was less venomous.  
  
“Look, at the end of the day, Enjolras is going on a date. It’s none of my business what he does anymore. He’s entitled to date whoever he wants and do what he likes without asking my permission or getting antagonised for it.” Grantaire said, his voice soft.  
  
“Doesn’t mean you have to be happy about it, though.” Eponine responded.  
  
“I don’t have to be happy about it, but I don’t have to be a dick either. I want him to be happy whether it is with me or without me.”  
  
“But you can’t sacrifice your own happiness.” Bahorel said.

“For Enjolras, I would sacrifice anything.” Grantaire said, his voice was barely a whisper.  
  
Enjolras stepped back into the Musain, his thoughts twisting around in his head.

 

* * *

  
  
It was Friday night and Enjolras was stood in his bedroom, worrying his lip between his teeth. He held various items of clothing in his hands, trying not to think about Adam, his date for the evening. Courfeyrac ripped the red jeans out of Enjolras’ hands.  
  
“No, no, E. You are not wearing those jeans. No red. Where are your black jeans?”  
  
“Those ones don’t fit me anymore.” Enjolras said but the words lost all passion. Courfeyrac had already brushed past him and was throwing things out of his wardrobe onto his bed.  
  
“They show off your ass. You need those jeans. We need you to look absolutely stunning.” Courfeyrac said, almost to himself, as he pulled out the offending jeans with a smirk on his face.  
  
“I am sure Adam won’t care what colour my jeans are.” Enjolras said, catching the jeans.  
  
“No, he won’t but I want you to look so beautiful and fuckable that he immediately asks you out on a second date.”  
  
“I don’t fuck on the first date.”  
  
“Have you even been on a date with anyone other than Grantaire?”  
  
Enjolras didn’t answer his best friend’s question.  
  
Courfeyrac wasn’t fazed, he danced around Enjolras, picking up various shirts and holding them up against the blonde. Enjolras left the apartment, feeling coiffed and polished beyond what he was used to. Courfeyrac had given him a seal of approval.  
  
The date was terrible. Adam was lovely, he was gorgeous. Dark brown hair, clean shaven, dark eyes, easy to talk to. However, he was also incredibly shallow. He was far too interested in himself. Enjolras had barely spoke about his own interests and he already knew that Adam liked reading, walking his three dogs, football and playing the violin. He also boasted of all the places in the world he had visited. Enjolras smiled throughout the entire date, sipping at his wine and nodding in all the correct places. Finally, when their plates were clean and the wine glasses empty, they both left the restaurant. Enjolras ducked his head when Adam moved in for a kiss.  
He walked home, his coat pulled around his chin, his thoughts far away from the man he had just spent an evening with.

* * *

  
Courfeyrac and Combeferre were curled up on the couch watching a movie when Enjolras slip through the door. The blonde smirked at the disarray of his best friends, Combeferre’s glasses were slightly askew, his sweater vest was rucked up ever so slightly. Courfeyrac’s dark curls were ruffled and his lips were swollen.

  
“I see you were having fun.” Enjolras said, smiling at his two best friends on the couch.  
  
“And you are blatantly not having fun, Enjolras. What happened?”  
  
“He loved talking about himself. He was telling me about how many times he’d been to Italy and how his parents had a boathouse over there.”  
  
“I’m sorry, E. I thought that it would help. This whole getting over Grantaire list has been a mess from start to finish. I just wanted to help and I made things worse-“  
  
Enjolras sat down next to him and smiled. “You meant well and that’s what counts, Courf. You made me realise that the best thing for me is time. Besides your list wasn’t completely useless. The last one is something I am hoping to do.”  
  
The blonde smiled, curling up next to his best friends, comforted by Combeferre’s hand resting on his shoulder, his feet tangled up on Courfeyrac’s.  
  
He knew then that he would be okay, no matter what happened.

* * *

  
  
_P.S Remain friends with R_  
  
Enjolras stood outside Grantaire’s apartment, the emerald sketchbook under his coat. He bounced on the balls of his feet, pushing down the thread of nervousness curling up inside his chest. It had begun to drizzle ever so slightly as he left his flat. His hair was sticking at his forehead, the curls falling out. “Enjolras?” The husky voice pulled him out of his daydream. Grantaire stood before him, ever present green beanie pushed over his dark curls, dark stubble covering his cheeks, grey smudges underneath his eyes. He looked tired. Enjolras instantly felt bad for turning up on his doorstep.  
  
“What are you doing here?” Grantaire asked, his voice was rough, like cigarettes and whiskey, like glass.  
  
Enjolras’ fingers tightened around the sketchbook. “I needed to see you.”  
  
“You wanted to tell me about your perfect date.” Grantaire replied.  
  
“I didn’t come to tell you about my date…I came here to forget about that actually.”  
  
“I don’t understand you, Enjolras. You’ve just been a date with a beautiful guy, knowing Courf’s taste in men, and now you’re on my doorstep, soaking wet.” He watched the blonde bite his lip, a nervous gesture he knew Enjolras did often. A drop of rainwater fell against the pink lips.  
  
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry about the date.”  
  
“Why are you apologising for a date, Enjolras? You’re entitled to do whatever you please with whoever you please.”  
  
“I didn’t want to date again. I don’t know why I did it.”  
  
“Enjolras, you don’t have to justify your life to me. I’m not a part of it anymore.”  
  
“I want you to be a part of it though.” Enjolras said, his voice was barely audible over the patter of the rain.  
  
“And you thought you’d win me over by visiting me after your date.”  
  
“Why can’t you let this date thing go, Grantaire? As I recall, it was you who decided that we should break up!” Enjolras couldn’t help the snipe leave his lips.  
  
“You agreed with me, Enjolras! I am not arguing with you about this.” Grantaire scraped a hand across his face.  
  
“I didn’t come here to argue.” Enjolras softened his tone.  
  
“You’re going the right way about that.” Grantaire said, a thread of sarcasm in his voice.  
  
“Grantaire…I’m sorry for everything I’ve put you through. I wanted to see you.-“  
  
Grantaire remained silent. “I’m sorry. I want to say that you know what I am like but that is no excuse for my behaviour. I know we were never the most conventional couple but I’d like to think that we treated each other with respect. I was stupid for agreeing to the date. I didn’t think about your feelings. I just agreed to it without thinking. I thought Courfeyrac was joking when he wrote that on the list.”  
  
“List? What list?” Grantaire’s look of anger had faded to confusion.  
  
“The list of ways to get over you when we broke up. Courfeyrac wrote-“ Enjolras was cut off by a faint chuckle. He glanced up, watching the curve of a smile fall on the artist’s lips.  
  
“You took _dating advice_ from _Courfeyrac_?”  
  
Enjolras’ cheeks were pink with blush. “Our group of friends are hardly brilliant when it comes to the dating game. You know what I am like when it comes to romance.”  
  
“Remember when you bought me orchids and you didn’t know I was allergic?” Grantaire was starting to look like his old self. The smudges were still present, but there was a new warmth in his eyes.  
  
“I remember. I remember spending that night in A &E with you, holding your hand.”  
  
Grantaire didn’t say anything. The rain fell around the pair in sheets.  
  
“The list didn’t work by the way.” Enjolras broke the silence, rain on his lips.  
  
“What?”  
  
“The list that Courfeyrac made me. It didn’t work. I still love you. I’m still in love with you and I am okay with that. I am okay with staying friends.” Enjolras pulled out the sketchbook from underneath his coat, holding it out to Grantaire, willing the artist to take it. “I want you to have this back, it’s only right-“  
  
“You fucking idiot.” Grantaire hissed, his eyes wide with surprise. He pressed the sketchbook back toward the blonde.  
  
Enjolras said nothing at first, his expression flickering between one of hurt and confusion. “I don’t understand-“  
  
“I’m still in love with you, Enjolras. I have always loved you and I always will.” Grantaire said, breathlessly. His eyes never left the blondes.  
  
“Oh.” Enjolras was rendered speechless for a moment before the weight of Grantaire’s words hit him. A warm feeling blossomed in his chest, he felt the ends of his nerves reignite. “Oh, you still love me.”  
  
“Of course, I still love you, you fucking idiot. I don’t want to be friends. I want to touch you, kiss you, make love to you, support you through everything. I don’t want the sketchbook back, I want you to keep it and treasure it forever. I want to be by your side, though. Properly. I want to be your equal.”  
  
“You always were my equal, Grantaire.” Enjolras said, quietly.  
  
He moved closer to Grantaire. The artist’s features still clung to tiredness but his eyes sparkled with new vigour.

  
No words were exchanged between the two of them. Their bodies crushed together, slotted together like jigsaw pieces, like they were intended to. Grantaire’s hands ended up in Enjolras’ wet curls, dirty fingernails against gold; hips grazing one another as if in shy conversation, Grantaire’s lips pressed against Enjolras’. Enjolras panted against Grantaire’s dry lips, Grantaire smiled and traced a hand down the blonde’s face as though to reacquaint himself with its features. The sketchbook remained pressed in Enjolras’ hands. Their lips moved together, almost in harmony, it wasn’t a perfect kiss. Grantaire’s chapped lips seemed to stick to Enjolras’, their noses bumped together. The rain continued falling around them.  


* * *

  
  
They all sat in the Musain a week later, talking animatedly in small groups after the meeting ended. After flitting around the room, eager to get feedback, input and opinions on the meeting, Enjolras finally settled down, dropping into the seat next to Grantaire. He smiled at his boyfriend. (They had announced the good news at the start of the meeting to animated applause, hugs, cheers and even a drink for them both from Eponine, a peace offering of sorts – Grantaire was glad they had told everyone before the meeting began, he didn’t think he had the strength to not blatantly stare at Enjolras for an entire hour.) They were still getting used to being together once more, their hands sometimes missed one another, they sometimes missed each other’s lips when they went in for a kiss, Grantaire was still getting used to Enjolras’ early morning starts (cold bed). Enjolras was still getting used to Grantaire getting up in the middle of the night to paint. (cold bed, painted sheets.)  
  
“Why did you forgive me so easily?” Enjolras asked, twining his and Grantaire’s hands together. Grantaire’s fingers are warm.  
  
“I didn’t.” Grantaire smirked. “Think of it as a reparation you owe me for the next twenty years.”  
  
Enjolras was happy with that.


End file.
